The Demon of Reach
by Jyx The Berserk
Summary: Noble Six is the last of Noble Team on Reach, and fighting for his life. A little assistance from a professional genocidal maniac alien helps with this goal, and a new story begins with the end of Spartan B312.
1. The End

Six had tried his hardest for Reach, failing time and again with both his missions and his team. He thought of them as he prepared for a final battle against the covenant in some construction site littered with bodies; Jorge, a friendly giant from the Spartan 2 program who'd made the team feel more friendly. Kat, a techie with stickie hands for information and a heap of sass that got them all through the day. Jun, vanished along with Doctor Halsey after the evacuation of SWORD base, a sniper of few words that taught him how to be part of a team. Carter, the leader of the whole thing, the man that gave Six hope when he had none. Emile, the last one to go, had been prickly with everyone until the end but was still a source of warmth in his own way.

Each of them gone, none of them buried, and in the short time they'd been a team Six had grown used to them. He was on his own again though, a lone wolf after Carter had told him to leave it behind. Six sighed, thinking of the one person he had left to talk with, a bigger asshole than Emile could have ever hoped to be.

" _That's a bit harsh, don't you think?_ " said the voice in his head, stuck there since Six had come to Reach. " _Think of all the times I've saved your life._ "

"And the many times you've tried to end it. Before you say anything, yes, talking about how great the ass was on the Elite I was trying to kill did almost cost my life." A 'humph' echoed in my head, and I imagined crossed arms and a pout.

" _I was just trying to get a smile out of you, Mr. Resting-Bitch-Face. How do you not smile at anything, honestly? You can't tell me it wasn't funny when we found those two dead grunts in a 69 or watched a Brute launch through the air like a ballerina._ "

"Shut up, Gutrot, I'm trying to get some guns ready." Thankfully, he stayed quiet for a while, and I was allowed some time to ponder the voice in my head, even if he could hear me thinking. He'd locked himself in my mind on accident when I'd found a strange corpse in a cave, (not one of the covenant, and definitely not human) chained into the wall and covered in dust from ancient paper. He was apparently a warrior and a criminal, one so foul that he'd had his name expunged from the dead society's history, and sentenced to spend his afterlife in his own rotting corpse. From the way he'd told me, his crimes were exclusively killing; nearly five million bodies over the course of the eighteen years his government had tried to catch him. He'd been a constant annoyance to Six, all the more so because he used his real name, and never shut up about his deal.

" _Speaking of which, Markus,_ " Gutrot said, making the Spartan sigh, " _I still need an answer from you before you die, since I'll automatically get full control of your corpse if you don't._ "

"I'll repeat myself for the hundredth time you sick poltergeist, not until the last possible moment," Markus responded, making Gutrot sigh as well. "You've said yourself you don't know if or how I'll be effected by the change, so for now, can it." The sounds of approaching Covenant ships filled the silence for a moment, but Gutrot had one last thing to say.

" _I just… don't want to be alone again…_ " Markus went silent after that, focusing on the enemy. Dropships poured out Grunts and Jackals, the occasional Elite seen here and there to lead them. Human weapons at the ready, the Spartan charged for his prey, firing a hail of machinegun spray into the bodies of them all, Grunts were helpless, Jackals and Elites dodged, and then the fight began. Markus lost count of the bodies that piled up around him, and blood slowly covered his body, every color but red. His shields were knocked down and brought back up multiple times, and he glowed bright yellow almost constantly.

Slashes and melted metal littered his armor from lucky shots, but he kept fighting, and they kept coming. He fought for hours, long into the night lit by plasma and gunpowder, filled with a rage and will to survive this onslaught. He collapsed when the light had barely begun returning to the surface, breathing with a wheeze from a hole in his chest and staunching a hole in his stomach with a can of biofoam. Corpses took up more of the ground than dirt and piled high enough to reach Markus' hip in some places. Zealots approached, and he stood up with extreme difficulty, slowly bringing a plasma pistol to bear on them, panting.

One of them activated a sword, deflecting his shots as they came until it emptied, and he fell to his knees, tearing off his helmet. The one with the sword kicked his chest, making him fall onto his back. He hacked up a piece of phlem that was half blood, smiling as it landed on the Zealot's chest piece. It growled at him, kneeling down to line up it's blade with his throat.

"Go… right ahead… you bastard…" he said, still grinning at the Elite with the eye that didn't have blood sticking it shut.

" _I'm calling this the last possible moment, Markus,_ " Gutrot butted in. " _You have to agree to the contract though: your body, we both get half of the control in it, and switch back between the two of us._ " The sword was raised, and midswing, Markus made his decision with one word.

"Deal."

A shockwave blasted the Elite on top of him to pieces, and the others were thrown back into construction equipment and concrete walls. The spartan groaned as he held his rapidly healing stomach and expanding ribcage, unlocking his armor as quick as his shaking hands could manage, unzipping his skintight suit after that. His body was burning with fever and sweating rivers into the dirt, and he vomited up everything in his stomach, then his stomach itself, and everything else in his torso. The surviving Elites were speechless at the spectacle, wondering what in the name of the Prophets was going on.

Markus managed to think his question to Gutrot: " _What the hell is going on?!_ "

" _Something I didn't know would happen, but will likely result in you turning into one of my species if those claws are anything to go off of._ " He looked at his hands and saw that he was growing claws, wicked and sharp. His body changed even more: skin turned the color of ash, a tail sprouting from his hip, legs breaking and forming a second knee like the Elites, and head reshaping to what could only be described as a dragon, horns and all. His organs filled in his chest cavity, and Markus gasped for breath with new lungs.

Exhausted, he collapsed sideways into the blood of his enemies and a pile of his own organs, falling unconscious immediately. When the horrid sounds of his change stopped, the Zealots peeked from cover, and found a new Markus in the place of the spartan, absent except for shredded armor and a few scraps of bloody tissue. It seemed as though they'd gotten one demon in exchange for another.

Minutes later, the still knocked out Markus was loaded into a Phantom, and sent up to a supercarrier as cargo, waiting to meet the prophets. When they arrived on the ship, he woke up to the sight of being surrounded by the Covenant and tried to move as fast as he could to the nearest weapon. His body remained slack, and Gutrot spoke up in his head.

" _Keep still, Markus. They think you killed your spartan body, and plan on taking you to the Prophets. Play your cards right, and you might escape later. For now, you're still asleep to them, and it should remain that way,_ " Gutrot said, forcing the ex-spartan to close his eyes and breathe slowly. _"This is your story now: you're a native inhabitant of Reach, unencountered by humanity or the Covenant because of your small population. You were sent to investigate the lights of the ships, and killed the spartan when you were attacked. You know nothing about their war or their religion, but you'll join both when asked. You don't know where your people are. Your name is Draken, my old name before banishment. You're not a spartan, you're not a human, you're not a soldier, you're Draken, a Kligher born on Reach. Repeat it until even you think it's the truth._ " The first Kligher in centuries did as he was told, adopting the story as his own. While the two minds waited for something to happen, Gutrot told Draken about his kind's abilities.

" _You're pretty much the same as when you were a spartan, but better. I'm going to give a few examples of my feats: I once jumped fifty feet straight in the air from a standstill and landed fine. I've lasted a whole month without water, and six months without food, recovering hours after with the right treatment. I once ran across fifty miles of desert at top speed, and still fought three hundred soldiers on the other side right after. My claws could rip metal like paper, you could probably do that to titanium, or even whatever these jokers use for their ships. I once punched a hole through the torso of one of my kind and kicked through a stone wall. Those scales you have don't do much, but they look badass, so, unfortunately, you have to get some armor and cover them up. Quickfire round; you can see in the dark, have twenty times better hearing than a human, about twice for vision, can use your tail like a third hand, and stab things with the blade on it. Oh, one important difference between our species before you freak out about it: your junk's internal now, and you do your business through the same orifice. Any questions?_ "

"None," Markus said quietly, drifting back into oblivion. "None at all…"


	2. Blending In

Draken faded in and out of consciousness during his time on the supercarrier, being shuttled around in different boxes and getting examined by a few wary medics every now and then. Apparently, his physiology confused them with how… _perfect_ he was. Their estimates weren't far off the mark, as crazy as they seemed, and he played a game to pass the time where he grinned at them when they brought up their theories (he'd studied the Covenant languages for intel purposes back when he was a Spartan), letting them know what he thought about them.

"What the hell are we supposed to do with this thing?" one of the doctors whispered one day, clearly audible to Draken. "It could tear apart a Jiralhanae, and we're just moving it around the ship and poking it!"

"I say we establish contact, see if it wants to join the fight. Worst case we send it to an early grave, best case we gain a powerful ally." The group agreed and ordered a group of translators to try and establish what language Draken could understand. For a few minutes they spoke gibberish, but he finally picked up the Brute language and grunted back a reply.

"Yes?"

"Ah, so you speak Jiralhanae? How?" the translator asked.

"One got lost near my home, learned how to speak with him, and sent him on his way. Where am I, and where are my people?"

"You're on a Covenant vessel, 'Terrible Dawn'. We don't know where your home is, I'm sorry." Draken paced a little, showing distress as he rubbed his hands together. "Were there many of you on the planet?"

"About thirty-seven if I remember right," he answered distractedly, gauging their reaction. One of the higher ranking members cursed in disappointment, turning away from Draken, others having quieter but similar expressions to the news. "I don't know how to get back to them, I don't…" he descended into anxious muttering, selling his act.

"We may not be able to help you get home, but with the recent glassing they may already be gone."

"Glassing?"

"Yes, the cleansing beams of our ships are used to wipe a planet clean of life. You may very well be the last of your kind." Draken effected a stunned silence, before dropping to his knees. Getting this act right was crucial, and he did his best impression of shock, even managing to squeeze out a tear with Gutrot's help.

"I have… no home… no family… gone…" He heard them whispering and held back a smirk when they talked about a 'perfect opportunity'.

"While we may not be your kind, you may find both of those things in the Covenant… what's your name?" He looked to them, still in "grief", but aware.

"My name is Draken… truly? I may live here?"

"If you wish, and if you pledge yourself to our cause, Draken," they said, thinking themselves clever.

"What is your cause, if I may ask?"

"We seek to embark on the Great Journey, lead by our Prophets, through the power of our gods the Forerunners and the Rings they left behind for us. We're actually thinking of sending you to our Prophets if you would like to meet them."

" _Ooh, would I,_ " Draken thought darkly. "Very much so. When may I see them?"

"Soon, Draken," the translator smiled, "I'm sure they'll be eager to make your acquaintance as well." The crowd dispersed, and Draken was left to his own thoughts, given a few clothes that fit him and then given a room while they prepared a ship to travel to High Charity. He rested some more, listened to their instructions, and picked up anything that might be useful later. He was soon put on a Phantom and sent through slipspace to the fortress of the Prophets. Draken realized that he would be the first member of the UNSC to lay eyes on the place, and tried to gather as much as he could about the place.

"It's the greatest of the entire Covenant fleet, the biggest and most heavily fortified."

"The closest I can compare it's size to is a large moon, but It's far more impressive than that."

"It can house the whole of the Covenant if needed, ships included." Even with the descriptions of High Charity, it's sheer size astounded Draken.

" _How do you even build something this big?_ " he wondered. " _Gutrot, we're going to need a long-term plan._ "

" _Yeah, sure, let me just pull one of those out of our ass. Stick to the story, and improvise the rest. It worked for me for thirty years, and I doubt you'll be here that long._ " It was crude and idiotic, but Draken didn't have a better idea and went along with it as the Phantom landed and he was escorted to the Prophets chamber. He was looked at with curious glances while walking through the superstructure, but almost none of them were hostile surprisingly enough. Being inhuman sure came with a lot of perks. When he reached his destination, he switched escorts from soldiers to high ranking guards, equipped with shining armor and bristling with weapons. He was stopped in front of a dais that held all three of the old aliens in their hoverchairs and instructed to kneel in respect.

"Greetings, Draken," began Truth, a nearby translator repeating him in Jiralhanae. "Welcome to the Covenant. What do you think of it so far?"

"I'm not sure yet, there's so much of it to see, and I've only been near it for a few days," Draken replied, trying his hardest to hide his hatred of the religious figures. He managed with a few deep breaths and a repeat of his backstory, able to continue his scheme. "But I wish to see more of it already. How may I begin the Great Journey?"

"By serving the Covenant, Draken," Mercy replied. "Currently, the heretics that call themselves humanity are attempting to prevent us from taking our first steps onto the holy road, and so a war has broken out between us, sadly. They are resilient and stubborn, but we are strong, and we will crush them so that they may not taint the knowledge of the Forerunners with their blasphemy. They defile artifacts, and tread on sacred ground without regard for the gods, yet call us mad when we defend our beliefs. They must be stopped, and you shall be our greatest asset in this fight."

"What can I do? I hardly know how to fight, and I've never seen these 'humans'," Draken said, worried about the direction this was going.

"With some training and proper equipment, you'll make a fine warrior, no doubt," Regret assured, confirming Draken's fears. "From the reports of the medics, you're perfect for the assignment we have in mind."

"You shall become our Judicator, a title for the greatest warrior in the whole of the covenant if you can prove that you're worthy of the title in combat, and with your devotion to the Forerunners. Your name will strike fear into the hearts of every human that hears it, and you'll have respect second only to our own. Go now, and make ready yourself for your trials. May the Forerunners bless your success, Draken, we have faith in you."

"I humbly accept your blessings my Prophets," he said through his teeth. "I will strive for nothing less than perfection in pursuit of the Great Journey." The Honor Guard lead him through even more hallways and passages, passing by his rooms on the way to the armorer's workshop. The craftsman himself was a Grunt who directed close to twenty or twenty-five Engineers and set to work getting Draken measurements as soon as he walked in the door.

"I hear that you'll be going through trials for the title of High Judicator," the armorer said. "I'm betting on you winning, so I wanted to know what size to make your armor in advance, along with a few other things. So, let's get started." Draken was very specific in the design of his armor and weapon, down to the type of metal used and the size of the visor.

The final product looked minimal but was better protection than the armor of the Hunters, and looked like a much smaller version of their armor in fact. Nothing flashy stuck out from it or glowed, and it was all colored near-black gray, with dull red accents lining the edges of the plates, and a black undersuit. It covered almost every square inch of Draken's body but was based on mobility and speed, trying to not restrict movement at every opportunity. An enlarged gauntlet covered his entire left arm like a shield, wrist to shoulder, and a raised collar protected his neck. It was made from the strongest, most durable metal that the armorer knew of, driving the weight up slightly but not concerning Draken. The energy shields were ridiculously strong and were a deep purple in color when recharging.

His weapon of choice was an enormous sword based on ancient greatswords from Earth, with a length ¾ his height and a guard that was angled towards the end of the red plasma blade. The pommel was long enough to accommodate three of Draken's hands if need be and was capped with a wicked spike. His second weapon was a simple plasma pistol, upgraded to carry a larger battery that could recharge, and had an improved heat-sink for more rapid firing.

"I'll make these for you as quick as I can manage should you succeed at the trials, Draken, good luck," the Grunt smith said, waving Draken out of his workshop. He walked back to his rooms and stayed up for a few hours trying to think of a way to get in contact with the UNSC before he had to kill other humans. He suddenly realized how quiet Gutrot had been lately, and wondered what he was doing.

" _Still here, just sitting in the background and trying to not distract you while you're working. I'm impressed with your infiltration skills, and you made every right choice possible with that kick-ass armor, Draken. You're right to think about sending a message to the UNSC though. 'Yeah, sorry guys, I joined up with the enemy and have to kill my own team now, sorry,'_ " he taunted, making Draken grind his teeth.

"I'm not exactly excited at the prospect of killing humans, just so you know. Not everyone can be a genocidal maniac of their own species."

" _True, but not everyone is in shoes like yours, and I EARNED the title of a genocidal maniac, thank you very much. I'd like to see you kill as many as I did._ "

"Forget it, I'm going back to sleep," Draken said, stripping and climbing into his bed. "'Night moron."

"' _Night jackass,_ " Gutrot replied, quieting down.

Draken began training the next morning, getting escorted to a sort of arena that had tiered areas going up and down, weapons were seen in some spots beside ammunition. His chaperone explained that this was a variable terrain training room, meant to train those using it to think about the position of enemies from all directions. Draken would be using it to get used to his new body. " _Okay, before you try anything, only use half of what you think you need, and try to remember that you can go twice the distance of what was once possible,_ " Gutrot reminded him, making Draken take his strength down a few notches.

He leapt around the room for a few minutes, trying to be as flexible as he could and using his tail as often as his hands, flipping through the air and changing his direction the moment a single claw made contact. Soon it didn't matter which way was down, he just went where he pleased. He set up a few holographic targets throught the arena and began the whole thing over again while adding in weapons.

" _You've officially gotten the hang of this,_ " Gutrot commented, after witnessing Draken snag five weapons on his dive into the ground, killing five targets at once, and still catching himself on a platform with his teeth. " _I don't even know how you came up with that move, but it was awesome._ " A watching Brute was apparently impressed as well and approached Draken from below.

"I find it difficult to believe the rumor that you're not a full fledged warrior after a display like that. You're sure you don't have any skills in combat?"

"Compared to my elders that was nothing, though they probably wouldn't be so flashy," Draken said, accepting the compliment. "In strategy and basic forms of combat, I'm still very much inexperienced, though I hope to learn both before my trials."

"I can't imagine a better being earning the title of High Judicator," the Jiralhanae said. "My commander has placed a bet that you'll win and may be willing to assist you with proper training if you want." Since someone might recognise his spartan training in combat, it seemed a good idea to try and find a new style to use. Draken agreed and followed the Brute to their barracks.


	3. First Assignment

Draken was surprised at the appearance of the Brute barracks. They were cleaner than some marine quarters and filled with what looked like genuinely kind men and women instead of the brutes that humans had nicknamed them. He kept his thoughts to himself and walked behind the Jiralhanae to his commander's office. This too was well kept, and currently occupied by the general, seated at a desk and seeming to improve attack strategies. That, or it was a game he played with an unseen player, judging by the self-moving opponents.

"General, I have the Kligher, Draken with me," he introduced, the general looking up from his datapad. "I told him about the wager, and thought he might like some training before his trials." The officer nodded and gestured for Draken to sit opposite him, dismissing the Jiralhanae and waiting for the door to close before speaking.

"I can say with certainty that our training is the most difficult out of the rest of the Covenant," he said, voice gravelly.

"I know this, but I can do anything you set me to," Draken said, equaling the general's steel. He nodded.

"Just thought you might like to know what you're getting into first. We focus on using whatever tactics are necessary to achieve our objective, our reputation as bulky savages often helps with that. You'll be doing conditioning first, and then move on to combat after."

"Sounds alright. When and where?"

"Now, and in the yard," the general said. "Find an instructor and ask for drills, they'll get you started." He gave a salute that Draken copied, and dismissed him.

Even for a Kligher, the training was harsh. He was put into a weight suit that tripled his mass, and then sent into various exercises: 30 miles of running, a full body workout, and even agility training, all done in a room that was heated to 130 degrees. Thankfully, plenty of water and salt was on hand to refresh him, and buckets of ice water cooled him off. Over the next week, he got used to the heat and used the buckets less, going farther and faster with all of his exercises. When he was up to standard, he was put into CQC and weapon training. He used speed to his advantage, and his newfound strength ensured that he always hit hard and fast, going in and out of his opponents range with ease, striking and escaping before they could attack. He began to favor a pair of knives on his belt, as well as a sort of pistol-like shotgun and a rifle. He was deemed battle ready by his instructors and thanked them for the training they'd given him.

Still, he wanted to learn more. He went to the Elites next, three weeks left before his trials, and asked to be trained. It turns out that there were quite a few bets placed for his win, and the Elites were no exception. The Jiralhanae had ensured he was ready in the physical department, but they lacked the Elites finesse with weapons. He learned to use everything in the Covenant armory, plasma pistol to shade turret but learned his most sought-after skill after everything else: the plasma sword. Nobody but Elites even knew the first thing about this weapon, but he would learn every nuance of it. He spent his last two weeks mastering the weapon, and every style that was used to wield it, developing his own when he wasn't being guided by the Sangheili instructors.

The time of his trials arrived, and Draken was ready. Once again he stood before the Prophets, and he was shocked when he heard what he was to do.

"You are to find and eliminate The Demon, this Master Chief, of the humans," Regret said, making the Honor Guard Sangheili in the room shift uncomfortably at the name. "Bring us his head, and the title High Judicator shall be yours." Draken didn't know how to react. The best fighter in UNSC history, the greatest hero of humanity, the hope of every soldier; **this** was his target? He'd fought everything from Grunts to Elite Generals, but not only did he not know if he should, he didn't know if he could. His answer was calm, unlike his thoughts.

"It shall be done my Prophets." He was dismissed, and he thought of every way possible to complete his mission without actually killing the Spartan while he prepared to hunt for Master Chief. When he left High Charity in a personal Phantom, he still had nothing.

He followed the reported sightings of The Demon, jumping from planet to planet on his hunt, and finally found him on some backwater colony that had been overrun by Covenant. They were in retreat when he arrived, the stragglers getting pickled off by the scant few UNSC forces still alive, and headed by the Master Chief himself. With regret, he got in a Ghost and rode out to meet him.

The two opposing sides stopped a hundred yards away from each other, Draken and Master Chief with caution, the marines with confusion. Draken stood from his Ghost and called out across the dirt to the hero.

"Before this happens, just know that your men will be spared and that I'm sorrier than I can say for what's about to happen," he declares, unsheathing both of his plasma swords.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Master Chief asks but stops when Draken charges impossibly fast across the intervening distance, and he dodges the first two swings as he starts to fire his rifle at the new alien. Draken is dangerous and unpredictable, and almost faster than the Chief, but the Spartan's years of experience keep him alive, even if he's constantly on his toes. The Marines don't know what to do and stand back from the fight.

John finally gets an opening, and holds both of Draken's wrists in his hands, struggling to keep him still. "Who sent you?" he grunts out, shaking with the effort of holding his enemy at bay.

"The enemies of humanity," Draken answered sadly. "Ones that I can't eliminate at the moment, and have ordered me to kill you to prove my worth. It's your head or mine, and humanity's end with both. But you have a better chance with me around, so I'll bring them your head." He wrenches Chief's head up and punches him in the throat, kicking off of his stomach to dodge the knife slash that he threw. Draken draws his own knives, and the gradually slowing Master Chief and he engage in hand to hand. Slash, punch, knee, kick, slash, counter, knee, they fight fast, both going to kill. Another temporary stalemate is reached, and Master Chief pants out another question.

"Why do… you fight for… humans?"

"Because I didn't die," Draken replied, "I went MIA. You must have heard that somewhere before, Chief, and it's one that applies to both of us. The last Spartan on Reach, first Kligher seen in millennia, and both are trying to remove your head." With a grunt, Chief breaks Draken's knives, and takes a shotgun blast to the stomach from Draken's pistol for the move, dodging the second as he puts distance between them. He was tired, bleeding, and not losing to this Covenant lackey.

" _Chief,_ _he's weak on his right knee, see if that can give you the upper hand,_ " Cortana suggested inside of John's helmet, and he drew an SMG to fire at the limb. Draken dived forward over the shots, managing to pump two rounds of heavy crystal into Chief's visor, cracking it.

"You should recognize a ruse Chief, especially one like that," Draken said. "Or did the AI in your helmet suggest the attack?"

"How did you-"

"I delivered that AI, Chief," Chief paused, wondering how he knew about- "I know you were on the ship I sent it to, cryo-frozen, not doing a thing to help the planet she left. Remember when you chose me, Cortana? Remember my Commander's last words? That you made the right choice? I'm still hoping that he's right and that I can end this war with three bullets. It's going to take quite a few more before that to take down Chief, and you helping will only waste ammo."

"Cortana? You've seen him before?"

" _I…_ " she was in shock, unable to answer. " _I thought… how did he…_ " her muttering was interrupted by the next attack.

"I know your training, I know your ally, and I'm not out of steam," Draken said, regret and grim determination turning his voice to cold iron. "This fight is over when I say it is, Chief," -he kicked down Chief's shields, clawed across his chest to spin him, and shout out the backs of his knees, and the Chief fell to them, shouting in pain- "and it's over now." He reloaded his weapon, slowly lowering it to the back of his neck when he stopped and pulled Cortana out of John's helmet, storing her chip in a belt pouch. "Last words?" The Spartan forced himself to quiet, and shakily said,

"Cortana… wake me… when you need me…" Under his helmet, Master Chief closed his eyes, preparing for his death. Draken fired, and Chief's head thumped into the ground, severed by the shot. He bagged it, helmet and all, and left quickly. The stunned Marines left as well, spreading the news of the Master Chief's death, not MIA, dead.

Draken dreaded returning to High Charity, mostly because of the difficult conversations he'd have with Cortana. He pulled her chip from his belt pouch, and set it into a holotank terminal. She was sitting on the ground hugging her knees when she appeared and looked at Draken with digitally tear-stained cheeks.

"Why did y-"

"I never once lied during the fight," he interrupted, shoulders heavy and face neutral. "I was on Reach, you chose me, I delivered you to the Pillar of Autumn, and held my ground until the last moment fighting off the Covenant."

Then why, Noble Six?" she asked, voice cracking. "Why would you kill off the hope of humanity, and what are you?"

"If we're going to talk, at least call me Markus," he asked, not looking at her. "I've explained why I did it: I'm in the unique position of becoming the High Judicator of the prophets, and was assigned to eliminate Master Chief to prove my worth. With his head, I've bought my way into their trust." She tried to ask a question but was cut off again. "Believe me, I know the consequences of that fight: morale will drop like a stone with the news of his death, while the Covenant's will surge and even more deaths will occur. I weighed my options in the spur of the moment and found this to be the most favorable outcome, the one with less time enduring war, at the cost of a higher casualty rate for a short period of time."

Cortana had nothing to say, what could she? It was logical, and even if other options had been open – taking John's helmet and sparing his life, or attempting an assassination before Markus had been assigned – Master Chief would have kept on fighting, and Markus' cover would have been blown, or he would have been intercepted and his cover blown regardless.

"So what now?"

"Now, I play a part, and you keep a low profile. I'm keeping you close for your own safety, and make sure that you don't fall into Covenant hands." Draken stopped, Gutrot showing his face for the first time in a while.

" _Oh, by the way, I'm here too,_ " he said, pushing Draken's face into a grin. " _Think of me as a form of multiple personality disorder, with the origin story of a two-thousand-year-old alien corpse soul planting itself in Markus' head. I may do this from time to time, but you'll be able to tell when I come up for air._ "

Cortana sighed. "Great, can this awful day get any weirder?"

" _Well, when you say it like that…_ " Gutrot said, pointing a finger at Cortana's avatar, currently glitching out and getting obscured by static. She looked down at her hands, horrified, and seemingly in pain.

"What-what-what-what's hap-hap-happening t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-to me-me-me-me-MEEEE-?" she asked, glitching out even more before freezing, and shutting down the holotank. Gutrot gave control back to a concerned Draken, who tried to get her to come back online. He couldn't and decided to leave her be until further notice, starting his slipspace jump back to High Charity. She came back online the second day in, and both of them were in for a surprise.

"Oh my god/ _Merciful skies above,_ " Draken and Gutrot said at the same time, gazing down at the _two_ AI avatars now frizzing on the holotank projector.

* * *

 **Hello readers. I know I didn't give any warning about this, but I'm now reworking my Demon of Reach story, and taking a break from Hicca for a while. Hopefully both stories are improved by their respective reboots, even if they've both kind of skewed away from their original arcs by a fair amount. I'll see everyone later, and hopefully you all continue to enjoy my stories.**


	4. Split Personality

"I didn't think that something like this would happen to her," Draken said, shell-shocked by this development.

" _Mind explaining, oh informed one?_ " Gutrot asked, sarcasm at full capacity even now. " _I can tell that this is somehow very, very bad, I just don't know how._ "

"When an AI undergoes extreme stress, usually through impossible mental exercises and torture, their personality splits into what's known as fragments. It's a carefully planned process done in labs to produce effective AI's that have a longer shelf life than their originals, but I don't know how it will affect Cortana since it was in the field."

" _I'm beginning to see more and more that humans are SERIOUSLY fucked up as a species,_ " Gutrot said, understating in the extreme. The Cortana pieces began waking up, and the two stopped talking to watch her. One kept grabbing her head like she had a migraine, while the other one was just confused and looking around curiously. They were slightly different: the one with a migraine had long hair that reached her hip and was a head taller than the other one, who had a pixie cut and was noticeably skinnier than the tall one.

"My head…" muttered the first one, getting the attention of the other for a moment before looking up at Draken.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she asked, and the first one was distracted from her pain enough to look around as well, also finding Draken. Gutrot interjected in his mind.

" _Reminding them of the event that caused this mess might do more harm than good. Tell them your made-up story, and keep them hidden when you get to High Charity._ "

"My name is Draken, and I'm going to be the High Judicator for the Prophets when I get back to their city. You're two AI's I found while I was on my mission to prove myself, and I want to learn more about you. What are your names?"

"I don't know," said the tall one.

"Me neither. How about you give us names?" suggested the small one.

"I suppose I could," Draken said, considering a few names. He turned to the tall one. "Tell me what you think about these names: Jaune for you, and you…" he turned to the other, and was reminded of his fellow Noble teammate. "How about Kat?"

" _An ancient French battle-maiden of legend, and your dead teammate? You've got to be kid-_ "

"I like it," Jaune said, smiling.

"Mines kind of cute," Kat said, smushing her face with her hands. Good lord, had Cortana's fragments regressed? Draken prayed it was just stress left over from the split and not a decrease in effectiveness; he had a feeling he would need them later.

"With that out of the way, I have to warn you about the Covenant," Draken said, bringing them back to the moment. "They're a very religious collection of many different species and may confuse you for relics of their gods, the Forerunners, and try to take you away from me. If that happens, I don't know what or if they'll do to you, and so I'm going to keep you both hidden, understand?" They nodded in a serious manner, and Draken relaxed. "Hopefully I can have something done so that we can be close constantly. It probably won't come to that, and most of them are actually very nice. Oh, and before I forget, there's someone I'd like you to meet." His eyes scrunched up and his brow furrowed for a moment. A grin split his mouth, and he adopted a lazy posture in his seat after he opened his eyes.

" _Hello there ladies, I'm Gutrot, a brain buddy to Draken,_ " he introduced himself. " _I don't really care if you believe what I'm about to say, but it's true: I'm an ancient alien soul that strapped itself into the skull of our dear friend whose body I'm currently puppeting, and will continue to do so until I can find a new body. You'll occasionally see our facial expressions change, and that's one of us handing the reigns over to the other. He can still see what's going on, he's just riding shotgun instead of driving. Bye-bye for now, it was nice to meet you both_." His face scrunched up again, and Draken looked at the two AI with concern; they both looked spooked.

"He's a killer," Jaune said, looking at Draken with narrowed eyes. "He's taken hundreds of millions by the feeling of him. His eyes had seen too much." Draken replied carefully to her, she had an intelligence that rivaled Cortana's, without the joking.

"Yes, he was. I know he's not very inviting, but I wouldn't be alive without him."

"He seemed like the kind of person to need a hug every once in a while," said Kat, thoughtful. "I'd give him a hug if I could."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate it," Draken said, somewhat confused at her behavior. An alert came up on Draken's board that they were nearing High Charity, and he pulled their chip out before he went to pilot the ship. They both were awed when they dropped out of slipspace, nearly the entire view in front of them taken up by the holy city. Jaune was silent, eyes scanning the exterior of the ship.

"I wonder if anyone's gotten lost in there before? It must be easy for such a big place."

" _This is definitely a problem,_ " Gutrot said. " _One's a soldier, the other's a damn child. We can't take both of them into a battle setting, but I don't know if we can separate them, or should._ "

'You never know,' Draken thought, 'they might have certain characteristics to make them useful. It seems like Jaune has a sense of reading people, and I'm sure we'll find out Kat's sooner or later. Practice that thousand-year-old patience that you've got, and have a little hope for once.' Gutrot grumbled but stayed silent, and Draken was left alone while he piloted the Phantom. He marched to the Prophet's chambers, head of John swinging in a sack by his side, and was uninterrupted as he walked through High Charity to their chamber.

"Draken, you've returned!" exclaimed Truth happily. "I assume your trial was successf…" he went quiet, smile dropping from his face as Draken slowly lifted the severed head from its resting place, helmet and all, and let it thump into the floor before his feet. He set a foot on it and leaned forward, switching to Gutrot for a little speech.

" _Does this answer your question?_ " Gutrot slowly said, grinning and speaking in that unsettling way of his. The guards tightened their grips on their weapons. " _I quite enjoyed hunting him down and shooting his head off, but alas, I can't do it again… I believe that I've proven myself to you, my Prophets._ " Thankfully, he'd shown respect, and even kneeled, his head bowed in supplication. Regret cleared his throat.

"Yes, this has more than proven your worthiness. We pronounce you High Judicator Draken and pray for your victory in many battles."

" _I humbly accept both this title and your blessing and pray for the same. May the Great Journey guide us._ " With that, Gutrot let Draken have control again (who collected John's head), and the two of them walked down to the armory to claim their prize. Somebody had told the armorer about Draken's weapon preferences, and he'd crafted a few knives in conjunction with the rest of his order. The armor and weapons were all beautiful, without any shine. Suddenly Draken had an idea.

"I have a request for my armor, the helmet in particular." He went on to describe in detail a port for a special type of chip at the side of his helmet, nearly the same as the one on a Spartan helmet. When questioned, he replied that he'd seen chips that fit into these on human helmets and thought that it might be useful to be able to read them. He also requested a modification to the visor to display the information on the chips, and a more up to date HUD. With the new details finished and a quick last fitting, Draken's armor was complete.

" _You finally look the part of High Judicator at least,_ " Gutrot commented, seemingly appreciative of how he and Draken looked in the mirror. " _Not to mention how powerful it is. We should find one of those Scorpion tanks, see if we're hurt by it._ "

"Genius," Draken deadpanned. "But first, we have to see if the port works." He walked to his quarters before he took out Jaune and Kat's chip, carefully plugging it into the slot on the left side of his helmet. Bars of code flashed across the screen for a few moments, too fast for Draken to read, before his armor did a sort of reboot. His shields flashed red and alerts sprung up in a half-dead HUD before everything calmed down and two video screens popped up in the top left corner of his vision.

"Sorry about that, we had to mesh together a few things, different pieces of hardware and software don't exactly like that," Kat apologized, sheepish.

"All fixed now," Jaune reported, "we have control over your armor's functions, and won't have to reboot it again if we're removed."

"Good to hear," Draken said. "Do you have the option to talk internally and externally?"

"Yup," they both said, doing one of each.

"Excellent. For the most part, you'll just be using the helmet speakers since we don't want anyone to find out about you, but it's nice to have that option." With that out of the way, Draken exited his quarters and walked to the training grounds to get used to his armor. He doubted he'd remove it much, and he wanted to be comfortable moving around. He repeated his mobility training from when he'd first arrived, instructing Jaune and Kat to analyze his movement and tell him about any imperfections and improvements they could find.

"We both discovered improvements that could be made to increase your mobility, but they are practically microscopic and very few in number," Jaune said, as proper as ever. "I'm impressed, it almost seems like going all out for you is just your baseline."

"Simplified, the way you're moving is efficient but looks excessive, and she's impressed that you've kept going at full power without breaking a sweat," Kat said, fondly exasperated. "Honestly, would it kill you to lighten up, sis? Your voice is a better sleeping agent than listening to politics."

"Define, 'lighten up,' because this is just how I am," Jaune replied, her avatar's eyebrow-raise almost audible. "I doubt you could speak like me for five minutes, and vice versa." Kat huffed but silently agreed.

"Personally, you're both helpful," Draken supplied, sitting on the edge of a platform. "Jaune gives just the needed info without sugar-coating, and you, Kat can make it easier to understand."

"Way to kiss-up," Kat deadpanned playfully. "But thanks for the compliments all the same."

"How about you try using a few weapons? I'm interested to see how you attack."

"Sounds good, Jaune," Draken said, standing and retrieving a carbine. "My best moment happened a while ago in here. I managed to hit five targets at once with five different weapons while in free-fall, and caught myself before I hit the ground."

"Wait, five different… you can use your mouth to shoot?" Kat asked.

"Tail, I'd probably injure myself if I used my mouth to fire a gun," He said, leaping from platform to platform and shooting targets in midair. "It was more showing off than anything else, see if I could even do it. I didn't really mean for it to be something I would use to fight."

"Would it be possible to repeat it? You've grabbed my curiosity," Jaune asked. Draken gave a small nod and jumped past a pile of plasma pistols into an area with very few platforms, free falling with five guns armed and ready. He waited for the opportune moment and then fired all five pistols at once, destroying as many targets, and used his teeth yet again to stop his fall.

"How wash thap?" he asked, tossing one of the pistols onto the platform and pulling himself up.

"Awesome!" Kat said, her avatar bouncing in the corner of Draken's visor. "I didn't know if you could actually do it, but dang!"

"It does showcase your skill nicely," Jaune cut in, "but doing that in an actual battle is a grave error. You were exposed and helpless for six seconds, and no matter how strong your armor is, that amount of time is a death sentence."

"Exactly why I don't plan to use it in a real fight," Draken said, dropping the rest of the pistols and falling to the floor. He stood up from his crouch quickly and began walking back to his room. "Thank you both for your help, I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Jaune said, but Kat seemed embarrassed, cheeks flushed with dark blue.

"Y-yeah, sure thing…" Maybe she wasn't used to praise? Regardless of her embarrassment, Draken turned from the way back to his quarters, deciding to explore High Charity.


	5. The Campaign Begins

"I suddenly wish I hadn't gone exploring," Draken deadpanned, trying to calm down the crowd of panicking Unggoy. His presence had startled one of them, and an unlikely chain of events led to an entire vehicle bay either being set on fire or covered in parts of ships. Draken simply gave up, and Gutrot switched out with a roar, silencing the screaming.

" _Would you all SHUT UP?!_ " he demanded. " _You there, gather a team to put out the fires, and the rest of you clean up the scrap._ " He sighed in relief when they busied to do as he said. " _That was the single most frustrating thing I've ever experienced aside from being locked in my own corpse._ " Draken switched back after Gutrot calmed down.

"I can tell. Thanks for the assist by the way," Draken said, turning to walk out after making sure that the Grunts could handle everything. "Has anyone else noticed that-"

"High Judicator, the Prophets demand your presence," his radio informed him, cutting him off.

"… well, I was going to say that things were getting slow, but never mind," he said, going into a jog. He reached their chamber shortly and kneeled before their dais. "What do you need of me, my Prophets?"

"You have a new mission, High Judicator," Regret answered. "You lack in combat experience, and so shall accompany Shipmaster T'Shlaa on a campaign as a commander of one of his platoons. Choose who you wish to command, and go with our blessing."

"T'Shlaa shall direct you as needed, but remember your place, and cut down _any_ who defy the Great Journey," Truth said, heavily suggesting Draken's secret orders: if the shipmaster was a heretic, kill him. "That is all."

"Yes, my Prophets," Draken accepted, bowing his head. He returned to his quarters to equip himself with his personal weapons, then headed to where T'Shlaa's ship was docked. The shipmaster was found on the bridge of the Virtuous Retribution, preparing for departure, and met Draken with a salute. Draken mirrored him, showing a mutual respect. "Shipmaster, I've been ordered to accompany your campaign, and will take command of a platoon."

"So I've been informed, High Judicator. Choose whichever six you want, and head down to your temporary quarters before we depart. It's good to have you with us," T'Shlaa said, dismissing Draken. He was handed a roster of crewmembers and scanned through them as he walked.

"Let's see… Brutes and Elites don't mix, Grunts will get in the way, Skirmishers are decent, Bugs are only good in swarms, and Hunters are slow but powerful," he listed off to himself, trying to assemble an effective team. "I'll need mobility more than firepower, which drops Hunters and Grunts right off the bat. I wouldn't know the first thing about commanding bugs, so they're gone. Elites would be better suited to working with me, which rules out Brutes. That leaves Skirmishers and Elites." He took a breath after getting ground rules out of the way and focused on building his team. "I'll need snipers to sit back and provide cover fire, but I only really need two close combat specialists fighting next to me. So, let's see who we can find in here…"

After a brief search, he'd assembled his team. Four Skirmisher snipers and two Elite specialists stood before him in the training room. Draken looked them over individually, slowly pacing in front of the six soldiers. The snipers had only minor differences between them, all of them were equipped with a needle rifle and a plasma pistol sidearm. The Elites were easier to distinguish: one had scarred and burned armor, a plasma sword, and two plasma rifles strapped to his hips, while the other had one long scratch on his chest plate and carried a concussion rifle and two swords. It was easy to tell that they were experienced, their eyes were slightly wrinkled with age, and they held themselves like his position was nothing new while maintaining respect. The Skirmishers, on the other hand, were stiff as boards, almost looking too scared to even shift their feet.

"The prophets have guided me here, for the specific goal of obtaining victory and glory for the Covenant on this campaign," Draken said, standing in front of them and looking into their eyes. "I have handpicked all six of you with my fighting style in mind. I hit hard, I run fast, I don't slow down, and I won't hesitate to choose between the mission and any one of our lives. As of right now, you are to follow every order I give to the letter. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, High Judicator," they saluted, standing tall.

"Good. I've read your profiles, so I know what you're all capable of and where your specialties are best used." Draken held up a chip in his claws. "I have here a document that you will read, detailing tactics that I have designed for combat scenarios in different terrains and situations. Treat this as your bedtime story, and study it every night. As far as you are concerned, this document will dictate your lives, because it may very well mean the difference between life and death in the field. That is all, dismissed." They were each given a copy of the tactics to study and left, except for one of the snipers.

"High Judicat-"

"Address me as sir or Draken, my title is too long for conversation," Draken interrupted smoothly.

"… Sir, I was wondering if I might ask a question, concerning a part of your speech. When you said that you wouldn't hesitate between any of us and the mission, I didn't know what you meant to be honest."

"If it comes down to it, I would save everyone I could. If completing the mission would save your lives, I would do it. If a target has to escape for you to survive, I'll report the failure as my own. Not one of you is expendable in my eyes." The Skirmisher nodded and left the training room.

" _Not bad for a lone wolf,_ " Gutrot said, impressed. " _I expected a bit more fumbling._ "

"I tried to sound like Carter," Draken answered truthfully. "It was hardly me, which was the point."

"Jeez, we really need to figure out a way to put us in your head next to Gutrot," Kat said, "as unpleasant as that sounds."

"It is a _little_ annoying having to catch up," Jaune admitted. "Maybe we could put Gutrot in a chip?"

"I don't think you can stuff a soul in one of those things, Jaune. We'll figure out something later. For now, I need to sleep." Draken began walked to his room, acknowledging everyone he passed in the halls. He looked for anything that might listen in on him once he arrived and took off his armor only after he'd made sure there was nothing and locking the door. Jaune and Kat were set on a nightstand, and Draken talked with them for a while before he went to sleep.

"We still haven't found a way to contact the UNSC," Kat stated, quiet. "Sorry, Draken."

"Keep working on it, they need to know what we do." The days blended together when they traveled through the emptiness of space. Thankfully there was no need for cryosleep in the Covenant ship, but Draken was sure the boredom was slowly killing him. At least, the complaints of two impatient companions were. Kat and Gutrot finally shut up when they arrived at the first human colony on their campaign. Their mission was simple: take out high-value targets and provide support to any ground troops in need. Getting boots on the ground was a major relief, even if it was for a cause that Draken didn't believe in.

"Find a working radio in the near future, you may be able to contact the UNSC with one, or I can at least copy the codes needed to do that," Jaune suggested, actively scanning for such a radio.

"It'll be good to call home after all of this, I'll keep that in mind," Draken said as the doors opened on the Phantom. To his platoon, he began giving orders. "Form up and move out! Check foliage for movement and fire on anything human!"

"Sir!" they chorused, jumping out and immediately checking for enemies in a sweep formation.

"Clear on all sides, sir," one of the snipers reported, standing up from a crouch.

"Copy that, proceed to the objective. Two-row form, keep it quiet, get moving." They moved through the trees like ghosts, leaving no trace and making no sound. Draken listened to his breathing in his helmet and watched for anything trying to attack them. His radio and the forest were both quiet, no reports, no birds, no gunfire. The calm before the storm.

"I have eyes on the human base, sir," an Elite informed him. "I count thirty men, more are likely in those buildings."

"You four stay hidden and provide covering fire on my command. Spread out, you'll be harder to find," Draken ordered, receiving nods from the Skirmishers as they ran around the perimeter of the base to find hiding spots. They all called in ready, and Draken moved in with the two Elites.

"On my mark, blow the gate and charge in," he instructed one, before turning to the other. "You will guard him. I'll enter over the fence on the other side of the compound." He stayed in cover as he got to his own position, watching for guards or patrols. He reached a part of the wall that was behind the command building and readied his plasma sword. "Ready. Three, two, one, now!" A boom followed his last word, and he slashed through the wall as the Skirmishers started firing. There was yelling and screaming from all of the UNSC in the base, trying to get organized under fire from every direction.

Draken cut his way through a few walls, trying to find the officers that ran the base. He found them and cut them down quick enough that none escaped, and made a note of where to find the radio. With their leadership dead, the humans couldn't get organized fast enough to counterattack, and soon they were all killed without anyone knowing they were gone.

"Well done, all of you," Draken congratulated his platoon after reporting their success. "Quick and clean, not so much as a scratch. Keep this up and we'll win the war." A phantom picked them up and sent them to their next insertion point. From there it was rinse and repeat: base, camp, settlement, they all fell quiet. Tactics changed according to the situation and a few close calls were had, but success was plentiful.

They were dropped on a tower in an actual city, assigned to provide cover and support for a stuck platoon, an Elite commanding Grunts and Skirmishers. Everything was going according to plan: the humans were distracted by sniper fire, Draken and the two Elites charged in to cut them down, and the platoon came in from the other side to squash them and seal the deal. They didn't know about the Spartan.

"Dammit! I need suppressing fire on that Spartan yesterday!" Draken shouted over comms, unable to risk moving and getting shot by the gauss cannon on the back of the warthog.

"Snipers are pinned down sir, we're spread too thin!" An Elite responded, caught in the same situation as Draken. Machinegun fire kept them pinned down, and though Draken could probably take it, the gauss would still drain his shields and leave him vulnerable.

"Regroup in the marked building, go now!" Draken commanded, breaking cover with a bound and drawing fire to give his team some time. They made it, but a gauss round slammed into his leg, and he went flying across the courtyard through a wall, the building he'd landed in on the opposite side as his team. He slowly sat up, head spinning, and put a hand to his comms on the side of his head. "… Draken here, I'm alright. Report your situation, over."

"Sir, running low on ammunition all around: no grenades or explosive rounds, plasma is down to quarters, and rifle rounds won't last another firefight. What's your condition, over?"

"Shields recharged, sword dead, low on plasma, empty on everything else," Draken panted. "Left leg got hit, didn't penetrate, possible concussion, over."

"One of the snipers was shot in the left arm, non-life-threatening, and I have three wounds in my right foot. What do we do, sir?"

"Is there anything left of that platoon we were sent to help?"

"No, sir, all dead." Draken cursed. They were stranded, and the enemy was ready for them.

"Okay, hunker down and wait for them to enter the building. See if you can set up a crossfire, I'll try to regroup and join you. Our only chance is a sudden attack, but they'll probably expect that, so we have to time it right. Draken out." He stood up from the rubble and began making his way to his platoon through the building around the square. He was two buildings away when he heard gunfire, and he cut through the open square to save time. He ran to the doorway behind the UNSC soldiers, and open fired on their backs with his pistol.

Three were down before they managed to turn around, and by then he was on top of them. He clawed and bit at their heads, flinging himself from one enemy to the next, but was again shot by the Spartan on the gauss cannon and flung through a wall. The Spartan approached his landing place, but Draken charged through an unbroken portion of the wall and tackled them with a yell, crashing through a pillar and slamming their back into the floor. He tore at their chest and helmet, slashing away titanium and glass with his claws until he finally knocked off their helmet. A royally pissed woman spat on his visor, and he tore out her throat with his teeth. They had achieved victory, pyrrhic though it was, and Draken called in a medevac for his troops and the dead Covenant outside. He affected a mournful silence and hung his head on the way back to the Virtuous Retribution, successfully staving off any questions as he held his head in one hand and his helmet in the other.

The real question was, why was some of this sorrow real?


	6. Reporting My Sins, Commander

Draken was required to give a report to T'Shlaa, he knew this, but he still dragged his feet on his way to the bridge. Thoughts of his mission ran through his head at sluggish and simultaneously rapid paces. Why didn't he try to get in contact with the UNSC? Why had he felt so strange when killing humans? But most of all, somehow, he was questioning where his loyalties were. He was human, a Spartan trained to defend humanity… or was he? His superiors had been content to use him as an assassin against uprisings and rebellions. He'd been trained as a lone wolf, specifically in combat scenarios against Covenant _and_ humans. Add in the fact that Markus was no longer a Spartan, but a Kligher, an alien with no loyalties to humanity and saved from a planetary glassing by the Covenant… who was he supposed to fight for now?

" _Dra… Markus,_ " Gutrot said quietly from the back of his mind. " _I understand what you're thinking. Trust the word of a genocidal maniac as much as you want, but I know what's going through your head. I know that you question what you're doing, what you've done to maintain cover, that you question if it's really a disguise. Ask yourself who needs to be protected, what the ones being attacked would do if the offense suddenly went away… I'd hate for you to make the same mistake as me…_ "

"The same… what's that supposed-" he tried to question, but he'd arrived at the bridge. T'Shlaa saluted him, which he returned, and he suddenly felt the weight of his thoughts again. "Shipmaster T'Shlaa, I have a report for you."

"Proceed, High Judicator."

"Twenty-six of the missions my squad was assigned were successful, which included the destruction of camps and ammo depots of the heretics." He winced internally at the word. "However, the third support mission we were assigned went… terribly wrong, and it is the mission I feel needs to be reported in person. My squad was dropped off six units west of the pinned soldiers and hurried to provide cover fire for their escape, as we were ordered. However, we were uninformed about the demon at their disposal and were ill-prepared for their resistance. We became pinned ourselves and ran low on munitions due to the firefight. We found out halfway through the standoff that the soldiers were being used as bait, which is why they'd survived as long as they did, but were unable to save them after the heretic's trap had been sprung. We watched helplessly as they were gunned down. Three of my team were injured to the point of being unable to effectively fight, one of them critically. I was twice hit in the legs with what I believe to be a gauss cannon, operated by the demon, and so was delayed from assisting my squad more than I had." Here Draken hung his head in shame, most of it real. "I take full responsibility for the deaths and injuries my shortsightedness and ill preparation have brought upon your crew and will accept whatever punishment you see fit to assign me, Shipmaster."

T'Shlaa was surprised by the High Judicator's attitude towards his defeat. For someone in his station, he'd expected the male to be haughty to some extent, or try to cover his mistakes and remain the flawless face of the Covenant that the Prophets were making him out to be. Yet, the High Judicator was humble and ashamed of not his defeat, but the damage to the lives of his fellow soldiers.

"That guilt should suffice," he said, keeping his face stoic. The male looked up sharply at him, obviously surprised at his verdict even if his face gave away nothing. "Ensure that such a loss doesn't happen again, by any measures you deem necessary, High Judicator. I truly wish everyone under my command were as honest as you. Dismissed." They saluted each other, and then the High Judicator left the bridge.

Draken's first stop off of the bridge was the infirmary. He walked down the rows of beds to where his three injured men were resting and sat down on a nearby chair facing them. The Elite who'd been critically injured was unconscious, a metal plate connected to various tubes covered an area on his chest where Draken knew three bullet holes were hidden, dangerously close to a number of vital organs. The Skirmisher and Elite who were awake saluted him, fists against their chests, which he mirrored.

"High Judicator, it's an honor to see you," said the Elite, tightly bandaged hand falling back to his side. "If I may ask, what brings you to the infirmary? I didn't think you were seriously injured in the fight."

"I wasn't, but you were, and I came to apologize for this whole mess. Were it not for my lack of foresight, we'd still be on the battlefield." The Skirmisher huffed a laugh, unable to cackle with a minor wound across his voice box.

"Were it not for you, Commander, we'd still be on the battlefield, laying in the rubble and gathering flies as we speak," he rasped, a grin on his face. "You're the whole reason we got away with three injured, instead of just corpses."

"I could have-"

"What? Done more? With all due respect, the gods themselves couldn't have done better in your place, sir." Draken smiled at the Skirmisher's faith in him.

"How about gods with more than three hours of tactical training?" The three chuckled in the infirmary, not wanting to disturb other patients or attract the medical staff's anger. Draken looked sadly to the fourth party, drugged into a temporary coma. "How is he?"

"Stable, alive, and I'm sure just as grateful as us," the Elite said, also looking at his comrade. "The healers say another hour without treatment would have sent him on the Great Journey ahead of us." Draken nodded, but the two squad members could still see that he was troubled as he left. When Draken was gone, he said to himself, "I don't think it's just this loss that troubles him."

"What? What else then?" the Skirmisher asked.

"I don't know. I grow concerned for his wellbeing, even if he's the strongest in the Covenant." More than they could know, Draken _was_ troubled, and even talking to T'Shlaa and his squad couldn't help with the problems he faced. The High Judicator sat in his quarters, talking with Jaune and Kat about ways to get into contact with UNSC.

"I'd suggest going back down to find that radio again, at the first base you attacked," Jaune suggested, marking a point on a map in Draken's HUD. "You can make an excuse to get back down there and then disappear for a while, and within a few days you'll be in human space again."

"Yeah… human…" Draken agreed.

"… Draken?" Kat asked, tilting her head in her corner of the visor. "What's wrong?"

"I… I don't know. I've begun questioning a lot of things that I haven't for years, my past, my training, my loyalties, my purpose… I'm not sure about a lot of things with everything that's happened."

"What do you mean?" she asked, Jaune taking interest as well. "You're a Spartan who's been forced to maintain a façade, and now have an opportunity to return home."

"Am I?" His question was met with a pregnant pause. "You both know my training, what I was used for, and what I've done. The atrocities didn't end at Reach, they were put on hold. I've killed more of my kind than Covenant." He looked down at his hands: five fingers, grey skin, claws. "I'm not even sure if I can call them my kind anymore."

"Markus-"

"Don't call me that, it sounds… alien to me," he said, humor vanished from the irony of that statement.

" _So, you've picked your side?_ " Gutrot asked in Draken's mind.

"I have. I can't stand to kill Covenant or humans, but I have and will again if necessary," Draken said, strength returning to his voice. "I'm against the Prophets, the ones that started this war. I will be the one to end it."

" _That's a pretty high bar to jump over. How are you going to stop the war?_ " Gutrot asked, abandoning his usual sarcasm and malice entirely.

"I don't know yet. Everyone's past diplomacy by now, the motivations are exactly opposite each other, and nobody's going to forgive the crimes committed at the drop of a hat. There is no easy way to do this the way things are, and it looks like any solution that's thought up will be temporary at best." Draken rubbed at his face with both hands, groaning with frustration.

"A common enemy," Kat said, making Draken drop his hands and turn towards his helmet. She continued, "a third party that threatens both sides equally. For the sake of survival, even bitter rivals will combine resources if it means living. I don't know where we could find something like that in this situation, but it would solve a number of short and long-term problems."

The more Draken thought about it, the more it made sense. There was, of course, the problem of finding an enemy powerful enough to threaten the UNSC and Covenant simultaneously and defeating them after the metaphorical handshake was over and done with, but the theory was what mattered.

"That idea has a ton of flaws and reasons it could go wrong, but it's an option on the table." Draken added, "For the moment, we need allies, people that will be on our side later… come to think of it, the Prophets seemed worried that T'Shlaa was a heretic, we might start with him."

"Careful," Jaune cautioned, "he may turn out to be as fanatical as the honor guard about the Great Journey."

"I'm prepared for that," Draken replied as he put on his helmet again. "But I'm hoping that I won't have to kill him." He walked down the corridors to the bridge for the second time that day, his footing far more certain this time than the last. He entered without fanfare and saluted the Shipmaster, being mirrored by the proud Elite. "Shipmaster, I was wondering if we might speak privately for a moment, it's important."

"I can spare a moment," T'Shlaa replied. "Take over for a moment while I see to this, Go'Vank." The Elite nodded and took T'Shlaa's place. The Shipmaster followed Draken to a nearby empty room and sat across from him.

"Before I begin, I must have your word that whatever is said between us never leaves these four walls and goes to our graves if necessary. What I have to say is of the utmost secrecy and is highly sensitive in nature, which would surely kill us if anyone else heard and it was relayed to the Prophets," Draken said bluntly, garnering a curious look and the promise he asked for. "With that out of the way, I can allow you to meet three people that are in on this topic." Draken removed his helmet and pulled the chip from its side. He set both items on the low table in between him and the Shipmaster and closed his eyes as the chip glowed. Gutrot opened his eyes and looked into T'Shlaa's as he stared down at the two AI on the table.

" _This is going to be a long explanation, and you probably won't believe most of it,_ " Gutrot said, making the Shipmaster look at him with confusion due to the voice change. " _Every word is true. First, introductions: I'm Gutrot, Kligher, genocidal maniac, last of my kind. I was cursed and locked into my own rotting corpse several thousand years ago by my people after slaying millions of them, until the one you know as Draken freed me and I roosted in his mind as a voice. The two blue ladies between us are Jaune and Kat, two AI that are indispensable and of human make. Draken was once Markus, a demon stationed on the planet Reach where he found me and was eventually cornered in a construction area. The records show that he was killed in action by Covenant forces, when really he was changed by a deal we made into what you now see before you._ " The Shipmaster was struck silent by all of this, and it was about to get worse." _With backgrounds out of the way, I have a major bomb to drop on you: the Great Journey is a lie invented by the Prophets. Yes Forerunners existed, yes they were technologically advanced, no they weren't gods, and no, killing humanity won't grace you with a ticket into the afterlife. Draken also wants you to know a rather important detail: the Prophets suspect you and ordered him to kill you at the barest sign of heresy. It's entirely the reason he was assigned to your command, and for once he hopes that the Prophets were right. Are you free enough of their lies to see the truth, or do we have to put a sword through your chest?_ "

The Shipmaster was glad he was sitting down before he'd been told all of this. Lying Prophets, ancient races, false gods, demons in the Covenant, and guides to the holy rings made by humans had turned his worldview on its side.

"Well… that's unfortunate," he said, slumping in his seat. "So all of the worlds I've glassed… gods, what have we done? Assuming that every word you spoke is true, then what I've had doubts about is correct. We're all guilty of murder it seems, on planetary scales."

"So you acknowledge truth when you see it, good," Kat said. "Then you also know the ramifications of what the truth would do if leaked to the wrong parties, specifically those blinded by the Prophet's lies. You wouldn't happen to know anyone we could trust enough to tell them as well, would you?"

"Few in number, but I know some that would benefit from hearing this. How would the humans react to a split in the Covenant?" the Shipmaster asked Draken, returned control of the body he and Gutrot shared.

"If they knew about it, they'd take advantage of it as soon as possible," Draken said. "They're all fighting for their lives, backed into the metaphorical corner, and fighting like mad to stay alive. They won't recognize allies unless direct assistance is offered, and may deny said assistance when it's offered by the perceived enemy. There is a small number I know that would even consider the possibility of friendly Covenant, none of them in places of power. Not to mention that I look and act like a devout believer of the Great Journey, and killed one of their best soldiers, and my word won't be accepted by them anyway."

"So, we're stuck gathering allies on the inside of the Covenant and have no feasible way to gain support from the UNSC because of bias or reputation without drastic measures. At least it's progress," Jaune said, shrugging her holographic shoulders.

"It would take an act of the gods to make the humans consider peace, and I'm uncertain even that would do anything," T'Shlaa said. "As things are now, something drastic is the only option that's feasible."

"Then we'll do someth-" Draken tried to say but was stopped when T'Shlaa put a hand to the side of his head, eyes wide.

"Repeat that lieutenant, immediately." His eyes remained wide, and he looked at Draken. "I'll be there right away."

"What just happened?" Kat asked, Draken putting her chip back in his helmet and equipping it.

"We've just found one of the Holy Rings!" T'Shlaa said excitedly, walking briskly from the room.


	7. A Flood of New Information

**Hello everyone. Short chapter this time, and after such a long wait I apologize. I haven't been very inspired recently, and so this chapter got cut in half. Things should speed up after this though. See you all later!**

* * *

Even knowing what he did, the ring was awe-inspiring to Draken. It was almost wide enough to fit around Earth and held an entire ecosystem on the inside of a metal shell. There were trees, lakes, mountains, valleys, and fields of grass. Draken didn't trust it.

"Shipmaster, I suggest that we not go down in one enormous force," he said quietly to the Elite, making him turn to the Kligher incredulously. "I have misgivings about… what we discussed, and would take caution in the approach." He raised his voice just enough for the crew to hear. "After all, the entirety of this ship walking upon its surface at once might show disrespect." T'Shlaa thought hard about what Draken said, knowing what he did and why he suggested what he did. He eventually nodded at Draken's suggestion and ordered him to scout the ring with a small contingent, and bring back any information or "holy artifacts" he could find.

Draken gathered the remaining able-bodied members of his squad (he had to leave one behind in the med bay, unfortunately) and filled in the blanks with Elites suggested by T'Shlaa. They took a single phantom from the vehicle bay and flew down to the surface of the ring without delay. They landed, and though they wished to explore the ring freely, Draken had them form up and stay alert.

"None of us know what's here, there could be traps left for heretics," Draken suggested, appealing to their religious side. "Move out, and look for a way into the ring." They called in every half unit, reaffirming that all was well each time, and explored the surface thoroughly. It didn't take long for a doorway to be found, and Draken led his squad down into the ring.

"High Judi… can't ge… gnal is we…" spat Draken's radio, static replacing most of the words.

"The ring is blocking radio contact," Draken said, taking his hand away from his helmet. He gestured to one of the Elites. "You two, head back up and report that we've found a way down and that everything is alright, we won't be much further down." The Elites nodded and turned to jog back up the tunnel. "We'll be on our own from here, stay alert for anything." They kept walking down the metal hallway, turning every once in a while before going down more inclines. Areas opened up along the path, vast halls that Draken could only guess at the purpose of. They were rejoined by the Elites Draken had sent earlier in one of these halls, and everyone was ordered to turn on beacons and spread out to look for any relics or important items. A few units into the search, one of the beacons pinged on Draken's radar, and he called in to see if the Skirmisher was alright. His radio was filled with screams and sounds that didn't belong to any Covenant.

"Weapons ready, investigate his location!" Draken ordered over his radio, running to the Skirmisher himself. When he got there, at the same time as the rest of his squad, he found the Covenant soldier covered in some kind of creatures with bulbous bodies and spindly legs, digging at his flesh and tearing into his neck. "Open fire!" The ones running at them were shot first, and then the creatures attacking the Skirmisher were carefully shot and hit off. He was bleeding and delirious, but alive. Draken ordered a full retreat, and the Skirmisher was carried on an Elite's shoulders as they ran. Finally, they emerged onto open ground, and Draken ordered his men back to the ship to prep for takeoff while he captured a sample for the scientists.

"Sir, with all due respect-" began a Skirmisher, but Draken cut him off.

"Go now, I can handle them and we need to know what we're up against," he ordered. "Fly low overhead when you can, but for now, run dammit!" His men saluted and ran back to the ship. He turned back to the entrance to the ring, activating his sword and wielding a plasma pistol in his free hand.

" _This is a great plan, by the way. I love it,_ " Gutrot said, sarcasm as heavy as a cruiser. " _Send off your squad, and hope they get back in time to save you from your own stupidity while you play whack-a-mole with the weird plants and try to bring one of them onto the goddamn ship._ "

"I said a sample, I never said anything about it being attached," Draken corrected, prompting a quiet " _oh_ " from Gutrot. The creatures finally caught up to Draken, and he backpedaled rapidly while he swung and shot at the things, popping them like over-full blisters. When the swarm had thinned considerably and he could hear the Phantom coming close, Draken snatched a tendril from a falling corpse and dashed towards the sound of engines, leaving the monsters in the dust.

"Go higher, I want no chance for these things to get back with us," Draken ordered the pilot over the radio.

" _Sir, will you be able to make the jump?_ "

"I can jump three times as high as you're flying right now, and that's where I want you. Do it." His orders were obeyed, and he strained to make the leap to the door on the side of the craft. He snatched the metal lip at the bottom and pulled himself in, barely having the strength to jump that high. After falling into a seat, he put a hand to the side of his helmet. "Get back to the Virtuous Retribution as fast as you can."

An hour later, after making sure the injured Skirmisher was in good hands, Draken stood in the same room as Shipmaster T'Shlaa and a hologram of Truth.

"The holy ring we've found is infested with monsters, some amalgamation of plant and sentient life." Draken showed images of the enemy as he spoke, and had lab reports of the sample he'd collected. "According to these reports, their genetic makeup is so well refined that they'd have to exist for millennia, before any current race existed, maybe even as an enemy of the Gods. They kill and consume rapidly. The T'Vaoan under my command who came into contact with these things is being treated for necrosis as we speak, meaning that these things kill even cells at an astounding rate. I have no doubt that he would be dead if we helped him even seconds later."

"… _I see…_ " Truth said, uncomfortable with this new enemy. " _What do you suggest, High Judicator?_ "

"Systematic extinction. We need to wipe these things out, fast," Draken stated quickly. "However, this campaign is underequipped for the job. We'll need more vessels for support, and if necessary, termination of infected ships." T'Shlaa gaped at the High Judicator.

"Termination?!" Draken interrupted before his rant could gain steam.

"In case of infected vessels, yes. Would you prefer to lose a ship or a fleet, Shipmaster? Their speed of attack is incredible, and there was a whole swarm reacting to a small team. What do you think they would do with entire ships of infectable hosts?" The captain turned pale and sat down heavily in the nearest chair. He turned back to the Prophet. "I refuse to allow this campaign to end so close to a Ring, much less accept defeat from an enemy that has desecrated said Ring. I won't allow failure, nor death, but this campaign lacks resources to wipe out these creatures, as I said. Will you send what we need, my Prophet?"

" _Yes, right away. Wipe this scum from existence, High Judicator, as you would the heretic scourge,_ " Truth replied in anger, directed at the enemy that would dare set foot on a Holy Ring. Draken saluted and bowed his head as the hologram faded away, and turned to T'Shlaa.

"We have preparations to make, Shipmaster, and time is of the essence now that our element of surprise is gone." The Shipmaster nodded, standing and taking a deep breath.

"You are right," he acknowledged. "Let us make ready to face the enemy."


End file.
